Seduced by Sunday (36 page)

“What are these?”

“New players? Someone out on a pleasure cruise? Hard to say without a visual.”

“How do we get a visual without being seen?”

The captain flipped a few switches, a monitor to his left flickered to life. “Bigger toys.”

Val peered closer, realized he was seeing the ocean from thousands of miles above. “Satellite image?”

“Big brother. We just need to narrow our location and focus.”

Val stood back. “Who the hell are you?”

“Brenson, Coast Guard DEA division. I worked with Neil, briefly, in the Marines.”

“You just happen to work in Florida?”

The captain shook his head. “California, actually. He said there was trouble here and I pulled a few strings.”

One of the captain’s men stood on the other side of Val, his binoculars in front of his eyes as he scanned the horizon. “We’ve been on the trail of one of Mexico’s finest, or sleaziest, of pushers. His name is Diaz. We captured some of his men, but none brought us close to how the drugs were making it into the country.”

“Packed in wine crates.”

Brenson shook his head. “Who would have known?”

“I sure as hell didn’t. Alonzo has been shuttling wine to my island for six months. God only knows how much was trafficked right under my face.”

“These guys are good about making innocent people accomplices. The fear of jail keeps them silent once they learn what’s happening.”

Didn’t that sound just like him and Gabi? Not that Val feared jail. It might be worth it to end Alonzo’s miserable life. Val thought of his sister, how she looked as Rick hoisted her limp body into the sky.

And how was Margaret doing? Had she used the gun? Did the man holding her know about it? Had someone injected her with poison?

He shivered.

Jail . . . he could do a little time if it meant Margaret would survive.

Val couldn’t decide if he was making a deal with God or the devil.

Probably both.

Meg tried not to panic when Alonzo’s yacht moved into view.

It had taken over two hours for them to meet, and while she would have liked never to see the man again, she held some satisfaction to know she’d have the opportunity to spit in the man’s face.

The two vessels bumped sides, and Alonzo with three of his men boarded.

“Why isn’t she tied up?” Alonzo asked, his arms swinging in her direction.

“What am I going to do, fucktard? Jump overboard?”

Her head snapped back with the slap of Alonzo’s palm. At least she’d have equal swelling on each side of her face. “I knew you were trouble the minute you opened your smart mouth on the island. Poking your head into someone else’s business is bad for your health, Miss Rosenthal.”

Meg didn’t give him a reason to tie her hands. Keeping them gripped to the railing, she used her words. “Gabi
is
my business.”

“Because you’re screwing her brother? Or do you consider her a sister?”

He thought calling out what was happening between her and Val would shake her. It didn’t. “Yes, and yes,” she replied.

He laughed. “That would make me your future brother-in-law by marriage, then, wouldn’t it?”

“Why marry her, drug her, then leave her for dead?”

He shrugged, moved away from her to inspect the crates of wine. “Running drugs through the island, making sure Val and Gabriella were tied to me . . . that would keep them silent. Gabi wouldn’t last a day in jail and Val knows it.”

“She’s stronger than you know.”

He moved around the crates and Meg tried to move around the railing to distract him. She didn’t want him noticing the missing portion of drugs yet. Stephan along with one of Alonzo’s men made a show of pointing their guns in her direction.

She held her ground and lifted her hands to her sides. The last thing she wanted was for them to decide frisking her was a good idea.

“My plan would have worked if you hadn’t taken a trip to my vineyard. Gabi might still be alive if not for you.”

For the first time in hours, Meg felt her lungs constrict.

No, please no. Gabi can’t be dead.
Not after everything, every risk she’d taken.

“Don’t cry, Miss Rosenthal. She was so high she probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“You bastard.” She lunged at the man, only to have two men hold her back. This time, when Alonzo moved alongside her, she did spit in his face.

His deadly stare unnerved her as he took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. “I should blow a hole in your leg and toss you overboard right here . . . watch the sharks come and feast.”

Meg had to force her breathing to slow. A slight wheeze started to build.

Alonzo ran a hand down her face and gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “But you’re my gift. Diaz likes blondes.”

The men holding her laughed as if Alonzo had made a joke.

He pushed away from her and boarded his yacht.

Stephan took the helm again, followed Alonzo’s yacht.

Within ten minutes, they were narrowing in on an island. From her vantage point, there weren’t any inhabitants.

Once in the cove, Stephan dropped anchor and Alonzo shouted orders for her to be dragged on board his ship. There were too many of them to fight, and struggling made her wheeze.

Alonzo pushed her across his deck and over the side to a smaller boat. Under gunpoint, she followed and watched. Stephan and all Alonzo’s men moved onto the pleasure ship, and it pulled away from the one filled with drugs.

They were leaving it there.

Which meant someone was going to come and pick it up.

Diaz?
The Alpha behind this Beta? And when would the pickup happen? A day, an hour?

Could she swim out to the charter and call for help? She had no idea if Rick and Neil knew where she was. Her mind scrambled for a way out.

One of Alonzo’s bigger men pulled her from the boat the second it hit the shore. Before she could scramble to her feet, he placed his foot onto her ass and pulled out a knife.

She screamed as he gashed the back of her right calf.

He pushed her to the sand and jumped back in the small boat.

Blind with pain, she rolled onto her back and cradled her leg.

“Take a long look before you dive in, Miss Rosenthal,” Alonzo said as he motioned toward the water. “Those fins aren’t dolphins. And they love fresh blood.”

“Burn in hell!”

Alonzo laughed, looked at his men as they maneuvered the boat back to his yacht. “People keep damning me today. Must be a full moon.”

Meg found her footing and ran behind the safety of the trees.

For the first time since she’d lifted Rick’s backup gun from the back of his pants, she checked the weapon. A 1911 with a twelve-round magazine. Perfect, reliable, accurate as all hell.

Ignoring the pain in her leg, she kept her eyes on the receding boat. Once the dinghy full of shitheads inched closer to the fins in the cove, and was too far away for the passengers to make it back to shore, Meg took aim. Three consecutive rounds splintered the wood, startled the passengers, and water started to fill the boat.

A bullet whizzed past, not close enough to do anything but tell her they had ammunition in their guns.

She moved position and located the cap to the fuel tank of the charter.

While Alonzo and his men were scrambling to stay afloat, those on the yacht were trying to move closer to their boss. One man went overboard and started swimming to the larger boat. Meg ignored their efforts and concentrated on her own. It had been a while since she held a gun. And the charter was probably outside of range, but she had to try.

If the charter blew up, someone would see it.

Or so she prayed.

She squeezed one eye shut and forced her breath to slow. It came back, all the training . . . the reason she picked shooting as a sport.

The wheezing in her lungs slowly went away as she counted down.

Squeeze.

Missed.

She lifted the barrel, felt the wind on her face, and lifted a little higher.

Squeeze.

Wood splintered. Nothing exploded.

“For Gabi.”

Squeeze.

They were closing in, finally.

Val saw enough on the satellite feed to know there were two vessels next to each other, and a third was following close behind. Just when he started to catch his breath, the blip on the radar disappeared.

“Damn it!” Brenson yelled.

“Where did it go?”

Val swiveled toward the satellite view, the delay a good thirty seconds behind the other monitor.

The charter became a flash of white, and even from miles away, Val heard the explosion.

Brenson picked up his radio. “Move in, all units, move in.”

The men on board the ship scrambled. “Full speed.”

Val looked up to see a helicopter overhead. He heard Rick’s voice on the radio shouting orders.

They stopped the engines cold when they found the wreckage.

His charter was still in flames, much of the hull already becoming an artificial reef.

There were at least two bodies floating in the rubble. Val looked for his jacket or Margaret’s red shirt and found neither.

Alonzo’s yacht had attempted to flee. The helicopter buzzed over the vessel, letting those on board know they weren’t going to outrun them.

It didn’t take long for a marked Coast Guard ship to position itself in a way to keep Alonzo from escaping . . . if in fact he was on board. Val had yet to locate him on the deck.

Instead of searching for his enemy, Val scanned the ships and the shore.

A booming voice filled the air. “United States Coast Guard, drop your weapons.”

The air was filled with the sound of more air support, the ocean dotted with ships filled with backup. None of it mattered without Margaret.

Val gripped the side of the ship, wanted to swim to the yacht to find her.

The men on Alonzo’s deck slowly dropped their weapons . . . one at a time until six men held their hands in the air.

They moved close enough to board the yacht. Val let the guard with guns go first, but wouldn’t let them hold him back once the guns of Alonzo’s men were taken away.

Alonzo’s captain, the man in the pictures with his sister, and Stephan were among those on deck.

Val clenched his fist and pushed his way through the armed guards. “Where is Margaret?”

Stephan offered a smug smile and Val’s fist flew.

Something crunched, he wasn’t sure if it was his knuckles or Stephan’s face.

“Which one is Picano?” Brenson asked.

Val looked again. “None.”

“What about out there?”

The two men bobbing dead in the water Val recognized as Julio, Alonzo’s cocaptain, and one of the waiters Val employed. “Not him.”

They executed a search of the yacht within a few minutes. They brought up the cook from below in handcuffs. No sign of Margaret.

Val’s eyes moved to the burning charter.

He wasn’t ready to believe she was on board. “Margaret!” His voice carried over the ship, drawing the attention of everyone who could hear him. “Margaret!”

A flash of red limped out onto the sandy beach.

Val’s heart wept.

Margaret waved her hands in the air. “I’m here.”

Brenson pointed toward her while men moved to dislodge a Jet Ski.

Val blinked, twice, and heard a gunshot.

Everyone froze, ducked. When Val looked again, Margaret was holding a gun and pointing it toward the rocky point of the cove.

Alonzo stood there, taking aim, then a series of shots fell from above.

Val couldn’t tell if Alonzo jumped, or was wounded and fell. He bobbed in the water and the Coast Guard launched a boat to go after him.

Dead . . . alive . . . it didn’t matter. What mattered was Margaret was alive, safe, and whole.

He rode on the back of a Jet Ski, hit the sand, and ran to her.

Her arms wrapped around him, the gun in her hand fell away. “Oh,
bella
. I thought I lost you. Thank God.” Val stroked her hair, heard her sniffling against his chest. “Don’t cry,
cara
, I have you.”

“Lousy shot.”

He inched away to see her face . . . her bruised and swollen face. “What?”